Overreaction
by elbcw
Summary: D'Artagnan and Constance are abducted. Can their friends reach them before it's too late.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors note: The chemistry is dodgy, (I'm dead proud of my F in Chemistry GCSE) I did some research and think the reactions would be as I have described… but it's probably not very accurate. And the medicine is just as speculative/guessed as well. **

**For those that need to know – it's d'Artagnan whump. They are all in it with added Treville and Constance. **

'This is not the first time he has been late,' said Athos as he watched the gate.

'Doubt it'll be the last either,' remarked Porthos with a chuckle.

'Young love,' smiled Aramis, 'may she forever get her prisoners in trouble…'

All three Musketeers snapped to attention along with the other men as their Captain descended the steps. They listened for their assignments and tried not to react when it became obvious the Captain had spotted that they were missing their fourth. As the men were dismissed Treville glared at the three of them. The glare enough to have them remain where they were.

'We do not know where he is,' said Athos before the Captain could ask the question.

Treville looked at Aramis, his penetrating stare enough to have him confess what he knew.

'He stayed the night at the Palace.'

Porthos thumped him, Athos sighed, but the Captain looked pensive.

'He's stayed with Constance before and always been here on time. I think she makes sure of that, the risks to them both, if they are caught together, are too great.'

'Captain,' called Pierre from the gate, the young Musketeer was standing with a man dressed in the livery of the Palace.

Treville beckoned the man over. The messenger handed over the folded and sealed letter he was carrying.

'Are you expecting a reply?' asked Treville.

The man shook his head before saying, 'the Queen is expecting you to meet her as soon as possible. She said the note will explain.'

Treville nodded and indicated that the messenger could leave. Athos glanced at Aramis and Porthos, both of his brothers looked as concerned as he felt.

As Treville read the note from the Queen they watched his expression turn to one of concern.

'We need to go to the Palace immediately,' he said. 'D'Artagnan and Constance have been abducted.'

MMMM

_Earlier…_

Constance could not help a childish giggle when d'Artagnan suddenly stepped to the side, slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close to him. He kissed her passionately, his hand sliding up her back and mussing her hair.

She pushed away from him and gave him her best mock annoyed look. He laughed and took her hand. They continued to quietly walk along the servant's corridor. They had only seen a couple of the youngest maids, hastening to clean the hearths in the main reception rooms before the Royal family and nobles rose from their beds. A sleepy stable boy had wandered passed at one point clutching a hunk of bread as he made his way back to the stables after a brief visit to the kitchens.

It was early, the daylight was enough to see by, but candles were still being used in the darker corners of the Palace. They reached the servant's entrance. D'Artagnan pushed the door open, Constance pulled the delicate shawl covering her bare arsm a little closer around her shoulders, she knew it would be warm enough not to need the clothing later in the day but the chill in the air at that moment made her glad she had grabbed it off the bed as they left her room.

'Will you be back here, after muster,' Constance asked as they made their way towards the gates.

D'Artagnan shook his head, 'not today, there are a couple of new cadets that need help with their riding – '

'So, you get to go out riding all day?'

D'Artagnan chuckled, 'much as I enjoy riding, I'll also be teaching – '

'You are very important now,' smiled Constance.

'I know. Not sure what they would do without me…'

Constance wondered what she would do without him. He had literally fallen into her life and not really gone away. His affection for her was genuine and she returned it. There was no love between her and her husband, their marriage had been a convenience and although Bonacieux was nothing but kind to her she did not love him.

They had reached the gate, one of the ones used by the servants when they needed to visit the city for supplies or, on occasion, by the King and Queen if they wanted to slip out of the Palace unnoticed. It was the only gate that was not routinely guarded, good sightlines to the next, permanently watched, gate meant there was no need.

D'Artagnan pulled the metal gate towards him, the well-oiled hinges did not betray them.

'When will I see you again?' asked Constance.

D'Artagnan still had hold of her hand, he bowed slightly pulling her hand towards him, he kissed her fingers, all the while looking up at her with a grin.

'Tonight?' he suggested.

'One day we'll get caught,' Constance said pragmatically.

'But not tonight,' replied d'Artagnan as he finally let her hand go.

The road that ran past the gate was wide, a buffer between the Palace grounds and the rest of the city. A cart had turned into the road as Constance was talking to her lover. She had not paid it any attention; the road was used frequently by traders moving about the city. Constance wanted to make the most of the last few moments with d'Artagnan. As the cart neared them it slowed down, stopping opposite them.

D'Artagnan turned towards the cart as the driver leaned forward fiddling with something at his feet. Constance knew something was wrong, but she was too slow to react. The men were on them before either of them could do anything. D'Artagnan had tried to reach for his gun but been struck by something, sending him crashing to his knees. Constance took a step towards him only to be grabbed from behind. Strong arms encircled her waist, trapping her arms at her sides. Her natural reaction was to struggle against the man that had grabbed her, but she could not free herself. She went to scream but found a big hand over her face smothering the scream.

Her struggles meant she was not really aware of what was happening to d'Artagnan, but she did hear him cry out once. She heard another man shout at them, followed by what she thought was someone being kicked, a cry of pain followed.

The man that was smothering her face grabbed her painfully around the jaw and forced her to look at him.

'You scream, he dies,' he said.

The man, his face covered with a black scarf, had piercing green eyes. She stared at him for a few seconds before he stepped slightly to the side so that she could see what was happening.

D'Artagnan was lying face down on the cobbles, he was struggling weakly as his arms were bound tightly behind him, a cloth had been pushed into his mouth gagging him. Her lover's doublet was twisted, and mud streaked where he had fought back, his weapons were being pulled from his belt. Constance could see that d'Artagnan was trying to push himself back up to his knees but one of the men holding him had a knee across his back keeping him where he was as the other man worked to restrain him.

All the attacking men were wearing dark clothes, all their faces were covered with scarves. She saw Jacque, the Queen's private secretary, lying a few yards away. The man, who she knew was loyal to the Queen, was covered in dirt where he had been beaten. He was watching what was happening but not trying to get back up, Constance hoped he had not been hurt too badly. Hoped the attackers would leave him alone and not assault him further.

D'Artagnan was pulled up by the two men that had tied his arms, he tried to pull free of the men holding him, but their grip was firm, and he was clearly disorientated from his beating. Constance watched as her lover was forced towards the cart and pushed up onto it, he was made to lie down. Constance could hear him complaining through the gag before he was punched by the man holding him down. D'Artagnan did not make any more noise. Constance was walked to the cart and pushed against the back of it, the men holding her pulled her arms behind her and wrapped a rough rope around them. She was bound tightly before being manhandled up beside her lover. She looked at d'Artagnan with concern, he was not unconscious but obviously disorientated from the last blow he received.

The whole attack had lasted a couple of minutes. As the cart moved away, Constance was forced to lie beside d'Artagnan, one of the men kept a restraining hand on her shoulder, his calloused fingers roughly pinning her down.

She had no idea what the men wanted or what was in store for them both.

MMMM


	2. Chapter 2

_Now…_

The Musketeers followed their Captain toward the Queen's private rooms. Porthos surreptitiously watched the faces of the staff and nobles that they passed as they walked, none of the men and women seemed to be acting differently. He quickly concluded that they were the only ones that knew something untoward had happened.

Treville did not pause at the double door that signified the start of the Queen's apartment. He pushed the door open and walked straight in. Porthos stepped around the Captain and Athos who had stopped a few feet into the room. He was aware of Aramis quietly closing the door behind them. The sight in front of them was not what they had been expecting.

The Queen was sat by a chaise longue with a dampened cloth in her hands, she was using it to dab at the cuts and grazes that covered the face of the young man lying on the regal furniture. The man, who Porthos knew as Jacques, the Queen's private secretary, looked dazed and a little perturbed to be receiving the attention he was from the Queen herself.

Aramis walked forward and knelt beside the obviously beaten man, he took the cloth from the Queen's hand and took over the ministrations without a word. The Queen nodded her thanks and after a gentle squeeze of the secretary's arm, she rose from the chair and turned to the Musketeers.

'Jacques wanted to take the message to the garrison himself, but as you can see, he is in no state to help at the moment.'

'What happened, Majesty?' asked Treville.

The Queen turned and looked at Jacques who nodded, with Aramis' help he managed to sit up.

'I saw them leaving this morning. I had been to the rose garden to collect a couple of flowers for the breakfast trays, I like to take the air first thing in the morning,' said the secretary, pausing for a few seconds as Aramis turned his head so that he could better see the injuries he had received. 'I saw them at the gate, I thought I would accompany Constance back to her room, I wanted to ask her what her Majesty would be doing today so that I could plan my work.'

'Jacques is very good at keeping people away if I want to have some time alone,' said the Queen with a smile, 'sometimes the ladies cannot manage to persuade the visitors that I do not want to be disturbed.'

Jacques smiled at his mistress before continuing, 'they were saying goodbye. A cart stopped by them. Several men – they were all wearing masks – grabbed them. D'Artagnan tried to fight them off, but he was beaten. I tried to pull them off him, but… I'm no fighter.'

The secretary looked down for a few seconds, the guilt obvious on his face.

'What happened next?' asked Aramis.

'One of them hit me, it didn't take much to leave me unable to do much… They pushed them both onto the cart and went.'

'Jacques knew that d'Artagnan would be in trouble for staying the night here, so he managed to come to me – '

'I'm sorry, Majesty… I didn't know what else to do…'

The Queen returned to the chaise longue and sat next to her secretary; she took his hand in hers.

'You did the right thing, Jacques,' she said with a kind smile before turning to look at the Musketeers. 'The men that took Constance and d'Artagnan left a note. A demand.'

She held up the crumpled piece of paper. Porthos glanced at his Captain who nodded. He stepped forward and took the note, holding it so that both the Captain and Athos could read it over his shoulder.

'Better conditions and wages,' said Treville. 'They've taken a ladies maid and a Musketeer in the hope that the King will grant them more money?'

'I fear they do not understand how the King will react to this,' said the Queen. 'The King will be annoyed but he will certainly not give in to their demands. I believe you are going to be their best hope.'

Porthos agreed with the Queen's assessment of the situation. The men that had taken their friends probably did know much about the politics of their country and were not considering the larger-scale problems faced by the court. Although it was true that a lot of people could very easily live a better life with a little extra money in their pockets.

'We need as much detail as you can remember. The smallest thing. If we are going to find our friend's, you are going to help us. You might think something is unimportant, but it might be vital.'

Jacques nodded. Porthos waited patiently for the young noble to gather his thoughts.

'How many men were there?'

He watched as Jacques mentally tallied the number, his eyes moving around as though he was seeing he attack again.

'There were two on the cart and six that accompanied it. I didn't see where they came from. They could have hidden on the other side of the cart as it travelled along the road. The cart was pulled by two horses, a dark bay one and a chestnut one.'

Porthos smiled and nodded his encouragement at the offered detail.

Jacques continued, 'the men all wore dark clothes, they looked like labourers, the clothing was not too tatty. A couple of them were quite thin, their clothes didn't fit properly.'

'Thin because they were malnourished?' asked Aramis.

The secretary shook his head, 'no I think the clothes were just too big for them. They all seemed capable, fit men.'

He paused again.

'Their faces were covered, but did you see anything else about them that might identify them?' asked Treville.

Jacques thought for a moment, 'the man that attacked me, I think he was a bit older, his hair, what I could see of it, was grey… I didn't really get a chance to look at the others.'

'That's alright,' said Treville, 'you are doing well. Did you see which way they went? Was there anything else about the cart?'

'The cart carried on along the road, I was too stunned to see which way it went at the end of the road, I'm sorry. The cart was good quality, new, I'd say. I think it looked a bit like the ones that Monsieur LeBrun makes.'

Porthos asked, 'how would you know that?'

'I occasionally drink at the same tavern as he does – '

'I do not keep my secretary prisoner, Porthos, he is allowed some free time,' said the Queen with a hint of a smile.

Porthos acknowledged the point with a nod to his Queen.

'Monsieur LeBrun told me a couple of weeks ago that he had two new carts nearing completion.'

'That might be a good place to start looking for further clues,' suggested Athos.

Porthos said, 'I'd like a look at where this happened.'

Treville and Aramis nodded their agreement.

'I can show you,' said Jacques as he eased himself up to stand.

Aramis steadied the young man when he wavered slightly.

'Are you sure you should?' asked the Queen with concern.

Jacques turned to his mistress, 'I want to help.'

'We'll keep an eye on him and he may remember something else when he goes back there,' said Porthos.

The Queen looked a little placated, 'please be careful,' she said.

As they walked back through the Palace Jacques continued to describe what had happened. From what they could gather, d'Artagnan put up a fight but had been overpowered. They had both been tied up and forced into the cart.

'One thing I did notice,' said Jacques as they reached the gate and he pulled it open. 'The man that was hitting me, he had a gillet on, I could see his arms, he had burns on his arms – '

'Like a baker?' asked Aramis who was walking beside Jacques, keeping an eye on him.

'No,' said the secretary, 'I've seen the sorts of burns bakers get when I've spoken to the kitchen staff in the Palace. These were different.'

'Interesting,' said Athos. 'The burns might help us to narrow down the professions of the men that took them.'

Porthos looked at Jacques, 'see what I mean,' he said. 'Any details could be the thing we need to find them.'

MMMM

Constance had watched as her lover tried to sit up several times during the bumpy ride in the cart. He had been pushed back down each time, only desisting completely when the man holding her down pulled a dagger from his belt and used it to threaten her. D'Artagnan remained still after that, looking at her, apologies in his eyes.

She had watched the larger, closer, buildings of the centre of the city give way to the smaller ones as they were driven further from the Palace. She had quickly lost track of where they were. From the angle she was looking she struggled to recognise the buildings. It was still early, there were not many people around, Constance doubted anyone had really paid the cart any attention, they were not visible where they were.

She could tell when they went from the firm roads of the city to the rural tracks. The brightening sky was cloudless, it was going to be a pleasant day. At least it would probably be pleasant to people who had not been grabbed off the streets and forcibly taken away. The men had not spoken to them, she had no idea why they had been taken.

The cart took a sharp turn off the track going over bumpier ground, the uncomfortable journey ended a few minutes later. The two men sat at the front of the cart jumped down, she could see them moving to the back.

'If you behave you won't get hurt,' said one of the men as he pulled his scarf from his face.

Constance glanced at d'Artagnan; they both knew the significance of the man showing them his face. They would be able to recognise him. The man did not intend to let them go.

They were roughly pulled from the cart. D'Artagnan resisted for a few seconds before the knife was again pointed towards Constance. He remained still, glaring at the men. His expression changed to one of shock and confusion as he was forced to the ground and pinned there. One of the men pulled a black-handled dagger from the back of his belt as two of the other men unstrapped d'Artagnan's belts, yanking them away from the prone Musketeer. The collar of his doublet was pulled back causing d'Artagnan to struggle for breath for a few seconds. The blade of the dagger was slipped under the collar and drawn down the back of the jacket. Constance could not help trying to pull away from the man that was firmly holding her, she wanted to do all she could to stop her loving being assaulted. It took the men a few minutes to completely cut d'Artagnan's doublet from him, he had been left with several rips to his shirt and a few cuts to his back and arms. Constance was relieved to see that none of the cuts were bleeding badly.

The men had not finished with her lover, next one of them knelt across the backs of his thighs causing him to cry out through the gag, Constance could not imagine how much pain d'Artagnan was caused by the move. The man with the knife pulled d'Artagnan's boots and stockings off.

When the men stood up, they pulled the gag from d'Artagnan's mouth and left him lying on the ground gasping for breath after the assault. One of the men placed his booted foot on d'Artagnan's back, keeping him where he was as the other's turned their attention to Constance.

'Wha'dya reckon?' asked one of the men who was very obviously looking her up and down, his eyes raking over her body.

Suddenly Constance felt very exposed, her lover was with her, but in no shape to keep her from coming to harm. She knew she was capable and could probably have seen off one or two of the men if they had approached her, but she was restrained, and several men were staring at her.

'Her arms are bare, that oughta do,' said one of the other men as he pulled his scarf down, revealing a weather-worn face leaving it impossible to gauge the man's age.

The first man nodded.

The man that had told them they would not be hurt moved to stand by d'Artagnan, he crouched down and helped the first man to haul the Musketeer to his feet.

'What do you want with us?' demanded d'Artagnan, who was still breathing hard.

'All in good time,' said the man that was obviously the leader of the gang before he turned to the others, 'put them in the pit, it'll be easier to keep an eye on them and he can be tied to the posts in there… It might be an idea to tie 'er up as well, she looks like she could cause us trouble.'

The man holding Constance chuckled before forcing her to walk past d'Artagnan, who still did not look entirely focused after the beating and rough treatment he had taken.

As she was pushed along Constance tried to take in her surroundings. They were in a clearing that had been created by the cutting down of several trees. The trunks of the trees had been piled up on one side, the ground had been dug over and marked out. Constance had not seen a large house being built before, but she could guess that was what was happening in the clearing. A couple of large tents had been erected on the other side of the clearing with a campfire and evidence of the group of men living by the building works for a while. There was no sign of any other buildings nearby and they were far enough from the road that they would not be seen by anyone passing by. Constance did not think help would find them easily.

The pit, when they reached it was a couple of feet deep and several yards wide, but only a few feet wide. White stones had been uncovered after the soil had been dug, Constance could see that the stones had been extracted in places. Four posts had been driven into the ground at the edges of the pit, she guessed to act as anchors for any shoring up that would be done if the pit was dug any deeper.

Two of the men jumped into the pit before turning and grabbing d'Artagnan as he was pushed forward. The Musketeers stumbled to his knees, the men did nothing to stop his fall, they dragged him to the far side of the pit and used a chain to secure his wrists to one of the posts before wrapping a second chain around his ankles, the second chain was already attached to the post opposite. D'Artagnan had enough slack on the chains to sit up but did not look particularly comfortable.

'Leave her alone,' he said as Constance was pushed to the edge of the pit.

'No, Musketeer,' said the leader, 'she is as valuable as you are. A King's Musketeer and a lady's maid, the Queen's maid, no less. You two are both staying right here.'

Constance was pulled into the pit, the men did not let her fall, some modicum of chivalry remained despite what they had already done to her. She was forced to the other side of the pit. A chain which was already attached to the post was wrapped around her wrists and secured with a lock pushed through several of the links. Constance pulled at the chain a little quickly realising she could not slip her hands out all she would do was bruise and cut her wrists. She glanced at d'Artagnan who was watching her, she shook her head subtly, he nodded his understanding.

Firm hands on her shoulders forced her to her knees, she leaned back against the wall of the pit and watched as the group of men climbed back out and turned to look at their captives.

The leader stepped forward, he was not the oldest or the burliest of the group of men but had an air of authority about him. He paused at the edge of the pit, a slight grin playing on his lips.

'You two were in the wrong place at the wrong time,' he said. 'We hadn't really planned on who we would take. A minor noble would have done, a senior noble would have been better. But one of the King's Musketeers, a man who should be protecting him.'

The man shook his head and chuckled before continuing.

'And you,' he looked at Constance, 'one of the Queen's companions. We know who you are, we've watched you with her. We've been watching and planning for a while now.'

'They won't pay anything for us,' said d'Artagnan, 'the King won't pay.'

'He will listen though when he sees what we are capable of. He will listen to our demands. A message is going to be taken to underline our issues… and then you two will be used to make it very clear… to make them know what it is to be one of the working classes, to know what we have to live with day in and day out. We don't want much just the means to live a safer life.'

'By hurting people,' said Constance, 'you think that by hurting us you will get sympathy?'

'No. I think that by hurting you we will show them what it is to be the ones doing the hard graft so that they can live the lives they want to.'

'What are you going to do?' asked d'Artagnan.

The leader looked at two of the men. The grey-haired man and one of the two younger men walked off. They returned a few seconds later carrying buckets, as one of the buckets was set down a splash of water sloshed up. The grey-haired man slapped the younger man on the back of the head. The younger man looked down but did not otherwise react to the admonishment other than taking a couple of steps back, away from the other men.

The leader reached into the other bucket when he raised his hand Constance could see a white powdery substance falling back in.

'This is what we use to build their fancy Chateaux's,' he said. 'This is what happens to what you are lying on when it has been put through a kiln. It's very useful stuff, but it's also very dangerous when it's mixed with water, it burns the skin.'

A couple of the men pushed their sleeves up, Constance could see the burn marks up the men's arms.

'All we want is more money to be able to manage this useful substance better. And we are going to get that by showing them how dangerous it is. I know of a lot of other masons who are willing to refuse further work until our livelihoods are improved. Without us, many, many things would stop.'

Constance could sympathise with the man's cause, but not his methods.

'You'll be kept for a couple of days, if our demands are not met you will be returned, but without your perfect pale skin,' the man smiled at Constance. 'You will be too ugly to be seen near the Queen. And you,' he looked at d'Artagnan, 'will be maimed badly enough to no longer wield a sword or musket.'

'You're mad,' said d'Artagnan.

The man laughed and turned away from them.

'Marcel, Henri,' said the man, 'you know what to do. Henri, make sure you are not caught.'

The man with the weather-worn face nodded before walking off with one of the younger men whose clothes appeared to have been handed down by an older relative.

By kneeling up slightly Constance could see the two men walk up to a black horse. They picked something up off the ground and slung it across the horses back. It was a body wrapped in a blanket, Constance felt sick when she caught glimpse of a dangling arm, burn marks completely covered the skin. She looked back at the leader who was watching her.

'Yes,' he said, 'we killed him by burning him with the lime, it was… horrific. But he had been stealing from us and therefore had to be dealt with. At least his death now has a use. He is the first message… You two will be the second and third messages. The King will listen to us.'

Henri had mounted up and after a final check that the body was secure kicked the horse into a canter. Constance watched the man disappear with the unfortunate victim.

MMMM

**Authors note: More tomorrow.**


	3. Chapter 3

The Musketeers spread out and looked at the area. Aramis stayed by Jacques, the secretary was trying to act as though he had not been shaken by the attack and what he had witnessed but he was pale and jumpy. He was looking around himself frequently.

'It's alright,' said Aramis quietly, so that the others could not hear, 'it will take you a little while to recover. Just because you have not been badly hurt physically doesn't mean you haven't been affected in other ways.'

Jacques nodded, 'nothing like that's ever happened to me before, I really didn't know what to do. I wanted to help them but couldn't.'

'Which way did the cart go?' asked Porthos from across the road, he was looking at the ground, studying the ruts the wheels had made.

Jacques pointed along the road. Aramis watched Porthos and Treville walk along the road, carefully looking at the ground and their immediate surroundings. Athos had wandered in the other direction.

A couple of men were unloading a cart in a side street, they were watching the Musketeers, one of them said something to the other who shook his head. Aramis walked towards them; Jacques followed him.

'Did you see something happen here earlier?' asked Aramis.

The two men looked at each other before the one that had shaken his head gestured for the other one to talk.

The older man turned to Aramis and Jacques.

'I saw the attack,' he said. 'I was up there,' he pointed to the upper floor of the large house at the end of the street. 'The owner's having furniture delivered. I'd been measuring the doors to see if we could get the chest into the room they want it in. We didn't want to have to get it up the stairs and find it didn't fit. I heard something and looked out of the window. I saw a soldier and a young woman being grabbed. Then I saw you try to help them and get beaten to the ground.'

The man looked at Jacques who looked guilty again.

'Can you describe the men, monsieur?' asked Aramis. 'Anything might be useful.'

The man thought for a moment before going on to describe everything Jacques had already told them. The only thing he was able to add was that the cart had turned left at the end of the road. By the time he had reached the Palace gate, Jacques had already stumbled off.

Aramis pressed a couple of coins into the man's hand, noting the slightly jealous look the other man had with a hidden smile and returned to the others.

Athos was looking back the way he had been searching, 'there are numerous footprints along the mud there. The other men must have hidden behind the cart as it was driven along here. I suspect d'Artagnan and Constance were spotted from the end of the road.'

'The cart turned left at the end of the road, according to a witness from that house,' reported Aramis with a nod towards the man who was now smugly showing his friend how much money he had made out of the brief conversation with Aramis.

Porthos looked back at the end of the road for a few seconds, 'that would lead them away from the centre of the city.'

They were forced to move to the side of the road to make room as more citizens started to go about their daily business. Any evidence that might have been left would soon disappear. Athos wandered back to the middle of the road to look at the drag marks and the footprints of the kidnappers before they were obliterated.

A shout from the direction the cart had gone in made them all look up. A man was galloping towards them on a big black horse, the man seemed to have no care for the people around him who were having to move out of the way. A woman rushed out of the way, losing her grip on her child's hand as she did so. Athos stepped forward and grabbed the child just as the horseman reached them. He lost his footing as he stepped back. Both Porthos and Aramis grabbed him and the little girl before they were knocked flat by the horse. The mother screamed causing the horse to rear up a little and whinny in protest.

'Watch what you're doing,' said Porthos loudly over the hubbub that had been caused by the irresponsible rider.

The man laughed before turning the horse around and pushing what had been slung across the horses back to the ground. The horse whinnied again as the man kicked the horse forward, back the way they had come.

A few moments of confusion followed as the little girl was reunited with a grateful mother and Athos was thanked for saving her. Aramis nudge Jacques who was staring after the rider.

'You alright?' he asked.

'I think that was one of them,' he said. 'The same dark clothes and the scarf over the face.'

A scream made them all look around. Porthos had been looking at the bundle that had been thrown from the horse. He had pulled the blankets back to reveal a burned body. A woman had screamed and nearly collapsed. Porthos quickly recovered the body and started to shoo people away.

Aramis knelt by the dead man and raised the blanket enough to see the burns. Jacques gasped and turned away, reaching out to steady himself on the ornate outer walls of the Palace gardens.

'What causes burns like that?' asked Treville from behind Aramis.

'It's the same as on the man's arms,' interjected Jacques who was looking distinctly green. 'Although a lot worse.'

'Whatever caused it, this man must have suffered,' said Aramis who was looking at the contorted pained face of the dead man.

The dead man was naked, his skin was covered in red splotched marks with blisters and green-grey patches where the blisters had burst or been rubbed off during the corpses transport.

'Athos?'

Aramis looked up at the concerned tone in Porthos' voice. Athos looked confused, he stared at the dead body for a few seconds before looking off into the distance.

'I… I am sure I have seen burns like that before. Not to that extent, and not on someone who has died. I cannot place it.'

Athos continued to pensively look off into the distance.

'Do you think that is what is going to happen to Constance and d'Artagnan?' asked Jacques who had managed to compose himself a little but was not looking at the dead man. 'The note that was left… it said they were being taken to use as an example to get the King to meet the demands.'

They all looked at each other for a few seconds. Treville was the one to break the silence.

'We need to find them. We know the King will not meet the demands,' he said. 'Athos and I will visit LeBrun and find out who he has sold carts to recently. Aramis, have you anything that will help with burns like this? I would like us to go prepared for the worst.'

The grim thought of what might happen to their friends was at the front of all of their minds. Aramis looked at the dead man for a few seconds.

'There are balms and ointments, but I do not believe they are particularly effective. It is the pain that would be caused by this that is probably more of a worry.'

Aramis was sure he would not forget the twisted face of terror on the victim lying in front of him for a long time.

'I might know someone who could help. Who could make something to deal with bad burns and the pain that would go with them.'

'Where are they? I'll need to talk to them,' said Aramis as he covered the body again.

'You ain't going alone.'

Aramis looked at Porthos unable to hide his annoyance.

'I know them from the court,' said Porthos with a raised eyebrow. 'And you ain't popular in there.'

Aramis nodded his understanding. Ever since he had saved Porthos from an untimely death at the hands of his former friend whilst the Musketeer was in hiding in the Court of Miracles there had been an uneasy relationship between them and the residents of the court. Porthos had returned a couple of weeks after the incident to check on Flea, the new leader of the city within a city. She had told him that there had been talk of revenge for the death of Charon, but she had put a stop to it. Porthos had told Aramis in no uncertain terms he was never to go near the Court alone. It was one piece of advice Aramis was prepared to take seriously.

'Will he be safe with you?' asked Treville.

Aramis looked at his Captain, 'he is standing right here.'

Porthos slung his arm around Aramis' shoulders, 'I will keep him safe,' he said with a smile. 'Flea respects us for what we did and I'm sure she would want to help when we tell her that d'Artagnan is in danger. She at least appreciates what you all did for them.'

Treville nodded, 'I'll leave him in your care then,' he said with a glance at Aramis who sighed with indignation. 'We will deal with the body before going to the cartwright. Jacques, perhaps you could come with us as you are acquainted with him?'

Jacques nodded, 'anything I can do to help,' he said.

'Good,' said the Captain, 'we'll meet back at the garrison.'

The five men quickly moved to take on their allotted tasks.

MMMM

After Henri had been sent on his way with the body the other men had walked away out of sight. D'Artagnan had tried to sit straighter to see where they had gone but not been able to see from his position in the lime pit. They could hear orders being given out and building work starting up. A saw could be heard in the distance and the sound of wood being chopped.

D'Artagnan turned to Constance who was pulling at the chain on the post. His lover was scared, she hid it well, but she was worried and d'Artagnan was not beyond admitting that he had concerns. The fact that they had been left unguarded implied to d'Artagnan that their restraints were sound, they would not be escaping easily. Constance had not been hurt, other than the manhandling she had received, a few bruises were forming on her arms but otherwise, she had been treated well by the men. He assessed his own injuries. He knew he was badly bruised and would feel more pain as the bruises came out, he had several deep grazes on his legs where he had fallen in the pit and he had been cut in several places when the men were slicing his doublet off him. None of the injuries would stop him fighting or fleeing, but he was not comfortable.

'These aren't going to come loose,' said Constance after some more tugging on the chains.

D'Artagnan shook his head, 'no, we're not going anywhere,' he said. 'When we were taken, I saw the Queen's secretary – '

'Jacques? I saw him as well.'

'He tried to help but got beaten to the ground… but at least people will know what's happened.'

'I think that… message, they just sent will tell people what has happened,' said Constance.

They lapsed into silence for a few seconds before Constance spoke again.

'When they were talking, telling us what they were going to do. One of the younger ones, the one with the shirt that's too big for him, that spilt the water, he did not look happy with what was going on.'

D'Artagnan nodded, 'I noticed that. I think he was trying not to cry, he looked scared. We might be able to persuade him that what they are doing is wrong.'

'It's something,' said Constance with a slight smile.

D'Artagnan managed to return the smile although he knew that neither of them meant it.

MMMM

Porthos was not particularly happy about taking Aramis into the Court of Miracles, but it would certainly be easier than trying to persuade the old healer to leave. The man, who Porthos was sure was the oldest person he had ever known, lived a few streets into the court in a small house. Many of the inhabitants would visit him daily for cures and help with assorted ailments. The man never asked for anything in return but was rewarded with food and clothing by grateful residents.

As they had walked over the invisible border between Paris and the Court of Miracles Porthos could feel a change in the atmosphere. The sun did not seem to penetrate as well down to the narrow streets. The chaotic layout of the area made it a hive of danger. There were many places to hide or to lay in wait for an ambush. Porthos well remembered most of the spots. He had hidden in a few in his time, laid in wait for the curious people who ventured into the court unaware of how dangerous it really was.

He was aware of Aramis watching their surroundings carefully.

'Is my life really in danger here?' Aramis asked quietly.

'Yes, Aramis, it really is,' replied Porthos without taking his eyes off the road ahead, watching a boy of about five scampering off.

The boy would be reporting to someone that two Musketeers had entered the court. The boy would probably know who he was, word would get around quickly that they were there. Porthos hoped they could talk to the healer and be gone before any of the angrier residents could find them. They were already on borrowed time.

They rounded a corner to be confronted by two men blocking their path. The men were carrying guns which were already levelled in their direction.

'We don't want any trouble,' said Porthos as he moved to stand slightly in front of Aramis who huffed slightly with annoyance at the move. 'We just want to talk to Old Jean and then we'll be gone.'

'He killed our King,' said one of the men.

'Felix,' said Porthos calmly, 'Charon was about to stab me in the back. Aramis only killed Charon to save me. Wouldn't you kill to save your best mate, your brother?'

Felix glanced at the man standing next to him who looked back. The two men looked a little unsure of themselves.

'After all that Porthos has done for you,' came a commanding female voice, 'and this is how you repay him?'

Flea stepped out of the shadows; despite her diminutive form, she held a position of authority over the armed men. The two men looked guilty, they stepped back, lowering their guns.

'You know that the soldiers saved our community that day?' Flea continued.

She was standing straight and tall, glaring at the two men. Porthos spotted another couple of men standing a few yards behind her. She was not a fool she had her own protection. The two guards were armed but did not approach, Porthos guessed Flea had a signal she would give if she needed them to help her.

'Go and get on with what you should be doing.'

The two men glanced at her and after muttering something which might have been an apology they walked away, pushing their guns into their belts as they went.

Flea turned to the Musketeers.

'What kind of fool are you, bringing him here? You know they want revenge for Charon's death. I can only do so much. They know that he's not to be touched outside of the court, but I cannot be held responsible if he comes to the people that want to cause him harm.'

'My apologies,' said Aramis with a touch of his hat, 'we are only here to seek help from one of your residents.'

Flea looked at him for a few seconds before looking back at Porthos.

'We need to see Old Jean, and Aramis is a field medic. Our friends are in danger and we believe Old Jean will be able to help with potential injuries. Aramis needs to talk to him because he'll understand better.'

Flea looked thoughtful for a few moments before turning to one of the men that was lingering a few yards away.

'Go with them,' she said, 'they are not to be touched.'

The man nodded.

'Be quick,' she said to Porthos, 'those two will talk. Word will spread quickly.'

Porthos stepped forward, he reached for Flea's hand, 'thank you. Your help is appreciated. I'll make it up to you.'

Flea tilted her head slightly, 'I'll look forward to that,' she said with the hint of a smile.

She turned and walked away, Porthos was sure she was exaggerating the sway of her hips as she walked. She disappeared into the gloom of one of the darker side streets, her bodyguard following at a respectful distance.

'Perhaps you should have come on your own,' remarked Aramis, 'I didn't realise how much I was disliked in here.'

Porthos sighed, 'Charon was their leader, you killed him, the fact that you were saving me has been forgotten.'

'Are you two coming?' asked their escort, who was a few yards ahead of them.

Porthos did not recognise the man, but he had been away from the court for long enough that many of her residents had changed, moved on or died.

They followed the man through the maze of streets, Porthos knew where he was, knew their guide was taking them by the most direct route, even though that meant walking along a couple of narrow alleyways. They had to push dangling clothing aside in places, losing sight of each other momentarily. Even with Flea's assurance that they would be safe, he did not want to stay any longer than necessary. The two of them would be overwhelmed in no time, and then there would be more than one Musketeer that needed help.

Old Jean was waiting for them, the young boy that had run off to warn Flea of their arrival had been despatched to alert the healer that he was needed. The boy was sat, cross-legged, a few feet away eating a piece of cheese. Porthos remembered doing the same a few times when he had run errands as a child.

The old man, a brown shawl clutched tightly around his thin bony shoulders, was almost bent double. His watery eyes still held the spark of intelligence that Porthos remembered. The man smiled as they approached.

'What you seek must be important to risk coming here,' said Old Jean to Aramis.

'It is Monsieur, Porthos speaks highly of you and I hope that you will be able to offer me advice that could help save our friends.'

The man nodded, 'come in, young man, come in.'

The man turned and shuffled into his small house; Aramis turned to Porthos who gestured for him to follow.

'I'll wait here, you get what you need.'

'I'll be as quick as I can,' said Aramis before disappearing into the gloom of Old Jean's house.

MMMM


	4. Chapter 4

'What's your name?' asked Constance.

The young man who had arrived a couple of minutes before was knelt next to d'Artagnan holding a cup of water to the restrained man's lips. D'Artagnan watched as Constance adopted that motherly way she had with younger people, even when they were only a couple of years younger than herself.

The young man glanced at d'Artagnan.

'What difference would it make if we knew your name?' d'Artagnan said.

'Simon,' replied the young man quietly before glancing behind him. 'I didn't know what they were going to do. I'm sorry.'

D'Artagnan glanced at Constance, she had been correct, the young man might be their way out of the dire situation.

'Simon,' said Constance, 'why have you stayed here, if you don't like what they are doing to us?'

Simon looked down for a few seconds, 'they killed my older brother, Max, he hadn't been stealing. Marcel is the one that's stealing, he set Max up to take the blame after Max stopped him from hitting me a couple of weeks ago.'

Simon sniffed a couple of times and wiped tears from his eyes.

'They stripped him and threw the lime on him, it must have gone in his eyes he shouted but when they kicked him to the ground and poured water over him… he screamed…' Simon stared off into the distance for a few seconds, the tears fell from his eyes unchecked, 'he was writhing with pain. When water is put with the lime that's been through the kiln it becomes very hot. The burns on his skin… the smell… I tried to reach him, but Henri held me back. It took ages for Max to die, they just watched, laughing. Marcel kept looking at me and smirking.'

Simon sniffed again. Constance managed to reach out to the young man and patted his arm. D'Artagnan was sure she would have gathered him up in an embrace if she were not restrained.

'Why don't you run away?' asked Constance.

'I've nowhere to go, I won't get paid until the work is done.'

D'Artagnan realised that Simon was as much a prisoner as they were, he may not have been restrained but he could not leave if he did not want to end up a beggar on the streets.

Constance laid the seed of hope for the young man, 'we could help you if you helped us. Can you get the keys to these locks or get us free somehow? You could come with us; we'll make sure you are safe from them. We'll see that you are rewarded for your help.'

Simon looked back at the campsite for a few seconds, d'Artagnan could see the man weighing up his options. He ran his fingers through his tightly curled black hair, a nervous gesture they had seen him do a few times.

'I might be able to get the key. Babin keeps it on his belt most of the time, but they all strip off to bathe in the stream on the other side of the camp,' said Simon. 'Maybe this afternoon?'

D'Artagnan nodded his encouragement, 'just be careful, come straight here when you have it, we can go whilst they are busy at the stream.'

Simon managed a smile, 'thank you,' he said before scrambling out of the pit and walking away without looking back.

D'Artagnan looked at Constance, 'you were right. Poor lad, having to see his brother killed for something he hadn't done.'

Constance had managed to kneel up and was looking over the edge of the pit.

'He's gone back to work as if nothing's happened, he's not acting differently. I don't think he'll give himself away.'

D'Artagnan wondered if he could allow himself a little hope that their ordeal might be over soon.

MMMM

The cartwright had a large workshop a couple of miles from the Palace. Treville, Athos and Jacques had ridden as quickly as the busy streets would allow. Jacques had explained to them that his father, a Baron living in the south of France, enjoyed working with his tenants and had taken him to watch carts being made when he was a boy. The skilled profession had fascinated him ever since. Athos found the young courtier a breath of fresh air compared to some of the fawning men and women who followed the Royal family around, he could understand why the Queen had asked him to be her private secretary.

The workshop's double doors were open, they could hear people working inside. A new cart stood outside, a couple of boys were busy making finishing touches to the woodwork, adding a few fittings. The apprentices looked up as the Musketeers stopped their horses and dismounted.

Jacques stepped forward, 'is Monsieur LeBrun in?'

The boys nodded and pointed towards the workshop.

'Jacques?' came a voice from within, 'what brings you here?'

A middle-aged, balding, man stepped into the light. He wore the typical heavy-duty leather apron of a craftsman. The bruises on his face, however, looked out of place. LeBrun smiled and held out his hand to Jacques who shook it.

'It looks like you've been on the wrong end of a fist as well, my friend,' LeBrun said as he took in the marks to the younger man's face.

LeBrun looked towards Athos and Treville raising his eyebrows with a silent question.

'We are investigating an attack that happened outside the Palace this morning,' said the Captain. 'We believe the perpetrators were using one of your carts.'

'I recognised it,' said Jacques. 'It was the men with the cart that caused this,' he gestured at his bruised face.

LeBrun stared at the secretary for a few seconds, 'then we may have been attacked by the same men,' he said. 'I told you last time we met that I had a couple of carts nearing completion. One of them was to be sold to a builder by the name of… Babin. But the man did not want to pay. He wanted to hire the cart instead. I told him I didn't hire out my carts they were for sale. He hit me. Just like that. Totally caught me off guard. Next thing I knew the apprentices were trying to get me to wake up and the cart was gone.'

Athos glanced back at the apprentices who were watching the exchange.

'Did they see anything?' he asked.

'No, Babin and his man had long gone by then. He'd come prepared, had a couple of horse with him ready.'

'Do you have an address for Babin?' asked Treville.

LeBrun shook his head, 'sorry, as he was collecting the finished cart, I never got one from him. He paid the deposit when he made the order and appeared an honest man. Guess I was wrong.'

Treville sighed.

'He told me he was building a little outside the city… but that doesn't narrow it down for you does it?'

Athos looked at his Captain, 'we don't know how long they have. It could take days, even with the entire garrison searching, to find them.'

'One thing I do remember,' said LeBrun, 'the two men that came. Their clothes were covered in light-coloured dust. I don't know what it was.'

'Thank you, Monsieur,' said Treville. 'If we can restore your cart to you, we will.'

'I'd be grateful,' said LeBrun. 'I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help.'

The Musketeers and Jacques mounted up and slowly walked the horses away from the cartwright.

'Can I make a suggestion?' asked Jacques.

Treville nodded.

'You could try some of the traders and guild taverns. There are bound to be men there who either work on or are supplying building works.'

Treville nodded, 'it is as good a place as any to start,' said Treville. 'Perhaps you should return to the Queen, let her know what is happening. We will get word to you with any further developments.'

Jacques nodded.

'Thank you for your help,' said Treville. 'You really have helped us. You may not think you contributed but you've done more than most courtiers would have done under the circumstances.'

Jacque managed a smile, 'I hope… no… I know you will find them. Good luck.'

The secretary urged his horse into a canter and disappeared along the road, turning towards the Palace at the end.

Treville turned to Athos who was again staring off into the distance, his expression the same as when he had been trying to remember where he had seen the burn marks before. The Musketeer realised he was being watched.

'The burns,' he said. 'When LeBrun said that the buyer, Babin, and his man were dusty… I think I remember where I've seen the burns before. I think it is lime after it has been in the kiln.'

Treville shook his head, not understanding.

'When I was a child my father had a few cottages built on our estate. My brother and I spent ages watching the stonemasons and labourers. They created a small lime kiln a few hundred yards from the building works. The lime when it had been in the kiln it was powdery, white.'

Athos paused for a few seconds, Treville guessed the memory was not pleasant.

'One of the workers he somehow mixed the lime with water, it burned him. The burns were the same as on the body that was left… I remember his cries. And he was only splashed with the lime and water mixture. That man, whoever he was, appeared to have been doused in it.'

'And the same fate might await d'Artagnan and Constance,' said Treville grimly. 'Let's make a start on the taverns.'

MMMM

Stepping into the healer's small house was like stepping into Lemay's office, but with much more rudimentary implements scattered around. Aramis recognised medical tools that would have been used decades before by the battlefield surgeons of the time. Aramis guessed Old Jean used whatever he could get his hands on.

The elderly medic shuffled to the corner of the room and sat in a chair by a small table, he indicated another chair set at an angle to the table. Aramis sat, he waited for Old Jean to indicate he was listening before explaining what had happened as succinctly as he could. When he mentioned that Porthos believed he had something that would help with burns the old man raised his hand to stop Aramis.

'I can tell you understand the difficulties that come with treating such injuries,' he said, 'you mentioned that you did not think the balms you have made much difference.'

Aramis nodded, 'I don't think they help at all. I've not had much experience treating bad burns but the odd ones the cadets pick up never improve with the ointments.'

Old Jean nodded and leaned forward, Aramis leaned forward as well, he got the impression he was about to learn something the old man wanted to keep between them.

'They think I know some miracle cure. Porthos brought a younger lad to me, years ago when he was still a lad himself, he thinks I did something magic with a lotion or a potion…'

Old Jean sighed. Aramis wondered what the man was going to say.

'The lad that needed help, he was in too much pain to watch what I did. Aramis,' said Old Jean with a hint of amusement in his eyes, 'I use water. Cold water and lots of it. Pour it on if you can. Keep the wound cooled for several minutes…'

Aramis stared at the man. He knew that methods changed frequently. Since he had known the Palace physician, Lemay, he had learned several new techniques. But Old Jean must have been using his water trick for decades. The old man seemed to be reading his thoughts.

'My mother was branded a witch, young man, she had to abandon me to save both our lives, but she taught me well in those few years. A woman ahead of her time you might say, although she was taught by her grandmother.'

'It's so simple, so obvious,' said Aramis. 'But what about the pain, what we might be dealing with… I saw the remains of a man with burns over his body… he must have been in immense pain.'

The man looked at Aramis for a few seconds before nodding.

'I can see you take your work as a medic seriously… I have something that will help – '

'Porthos said you had some strong painkillers; stronger than the ones I make up.'

'Quite possibly.'

'I'll need the ingredients – '

Old Jean shook his head, 'no. The only person who will be taught my secrets is that boy out there. My great-grandson, Little Jean. He already knows more about medicine than you do, young man.'

Aramis remembered seeing the small boy sat on the dusty ground outside Old Jean's house.

'I have several bottles of the painkiller, you can take them, it does not take much time to make up more. You do not have to give the sufferer much, it will likely make them sleep, but the pain will be significantly reduced.'

Old Jean pushed himself up from his chair and crossed to a chest laying on a sturdy looking side table. He fished a key from a string around his neck and opened the dark brown chest. Aramis caught a glimpse of many bottles and vials. He spotted a tatty handmade notebook and wondered if it contained the secrets to the old man's medicines. Old Jean pulled three small bottles from the chest and handed them to Aramis, clutching at the Musketeers' hand.

'Use them wisely, young man,' he said before releasing Aramis.

'Thank you, Monsieur,' said Aramis.

The old man nodded with a smile before moving back to his chair in the corner of the room. Knowing he was not going to get anything further from the elderly medic Aramis tipped his hat in thanks before venturing back out onto the street. He found Porthos talking to Little Jean who was looking up at the tall Musketeer with an expression of awe. Aramis wondered if the little boy knew he was probably in line to be one of the most useful citizens of the Court.

Porthos ruffled the boy's hair before turning away. They walked back the way they had come, Flea's bodyguard a constant presence a few feet in front of them.

'Little Jean there was saying he's going to take over from his great grandfather.'

Aramis nodded, 'that's what Old Jean told me. He wouldn't let me have the ingredients for the painkillers, but he gave me plenty. I just hope we don't have to use it.'

'What about the burns?'

Aramis smiled, 'he told me what to do,' he said.

Porthos managed a nod before going back to watching their surroundings carefully, the streets had become busy in the time Aramis had been with the old man. The tattily dressed poorer residents were moving out of the way for them as they passed, a few looked fearful at seeing the Musketeers on their streets. But some of the fit young men who probably made up the workforce and Courts own army were appearing from doorways and side streets in numbers. Aramis could sense that Porthos was getting tense.

'I know you don't need protecting,' said his friend quietly, 'but please do not make eye contact with them. Flea's bodyguard said that the feelings against you are actually worse than perhaps she knows.'

Aramis nodded and went from watching his surroundings to looking at the ground, something he would never normally do. But they were on a mission to save d'Artagnan and Constance and could not be delayed with an unnecessary fight. They increased their pace slightly. Even with his now limited vision, Aramis could still see the younger men appearing around them.

When he was barged forcefully by someone, causing him to be spun around slightly, he instinctively reached for his gun only to find a hand on his wrist holding him back. He looked up to find Porthos glaring at him, the tight grip on his wrist remained as his friend forced him to walk faster towards the invisible border marking the edge of the Court's land.

'Just keep walking,' said Porthos quietly, 'that man was armed, he wanted you to react so that he could say he was defending himself when he stabbed you.'

It took Aramis a few seconds to understand what Porthos was saying, he nodded, but Porthos did not release him, instead, he urged Aramis on with a hand on his back. They did not quite break into a run but were marching at speed by the time they left the Court of Miracles behind.

MMMM


	5. Chapter 5

**Authors note: Some might find parts of this a bit graphic. Potential trigger warning in a note at the end of the chapter, although it's fairly obvious if you've read the rest of the story. **

'I got the key,' said Simon as he jumped down into the pit.

D'Artagnan tried to look in the direction of the campsite but still could not see over the edge of their temporary prison. They had been left alone for several hours with only occasional visits from one or the other of the builders. Babin had wandered over at one point and relieved himself in the pit, causing Constance to draw her knees up in an attempt to keep away from the vile man. Babin had chuckled and after doing his breeches up had walked away without saying a word.

They had not spoken much, there was not much to say. They were relying on Simon to help them. D'Artagnan had tried pulling at the chains that were keeping him where he was but, as with Constance, he had no luck. The chains were solid, the posts deeply embedded in the pit.

Constance had been able to kneel and watch the builders, she told him they were getting on with their work as if nothing untoward was going on. Simon had glanced in their direction a few times, earning himself another slap from one of the other men. It was obvious the young man was the least well thought of from the group. D'Artagnan wondered if his brother had been a protective barrier when he had been alive. Babin knew that Simon had nowhere to go and appeared to have effectively enslaved the young man.

The fresh bruise to his face standing out starkly on his pale skin, Simon crossed the pit to Constance and crouched next to her. He slipped the key into the padlock that was keeping her captive.

'We'll just make for that wooded area behind us,' said d'Artagnan, 'we'll need to avoid the roads that's the first place they'll look for us.'

'Where will we go?' asked Simon as he started to pull the padlock free of the chains.

'Back to my garrison,' replied d'Artagnan. 'You'll be safe there.'

'He ain't gonna be safe anywhere,' came a voice from the edge of the pit.

They all looked up. Babin was watching them. D'Artagnan cursed himself for not keeping an eye out for the rest of the men. They knew the men were by the stream bathing and had not expected to be checked on for several minutes. Babin's hair was wet and his shirt was damp in places, he appeared to have dressed in a hurry. The other men were arriving. The older man was still doing his breeches up, while one of the other's was busy tucking his shirt in.

Simon had twisted around and was staring up at Babin, the fear keeping him rooted to the spot. Marcel jumped into the pit and approached the terrified young man. As Marcel reached forward to grab Simon, he managed to pull away but was not quick enough. Marcel, who was of a bigger build than Simon grabbed him firmly and hauled him up to stand. One of the other men joined them and helped to push the unfortunate young man to the edge of the pit.

The grey-haired older man walked up to Constance and picked up the padlock. He leered at her, d'Artagnan could see his lover trying to affect a defiant glare back, but she had fear in her eyes. She was probably not fearful for herself. D'Artagnan knew that she would be worried about Simon. D'Artagnan was worried as well. The older man pushed the padlock back around the chains keeping Constance restrained and pushed the lock closed. He took a moment to stroke her arm with a sigh. Constance could not help herself; she jerked her arm away.

The man chuckled, 'I'd have liked to have some fun with you…' he leaned into her slightly but spoke loudly enough for d'Artagnan to hear, 'I may still have some fun with you.'

'Leave her alone,' said d'Artagnan.

The man looked back and laughed before moving to help the two men, who were holding Simon, to force him out of the pit. They dragged the young man away. Simon had whimpered a few times but otherwise not said anything a look of resignation on his face.

Babin stared at them both for a few seconds. He shook his head.

'You are responsible for what happens next,' he said, before walking away.

MMMM

Athos looked at Aramis who seemed a little worked up as he told them he had acquired a strong pain killer and had the very simple method of dealing with burns explained to him. Porthos looked a little angry.

They had met at the garrison and spent a few minutes updating each other. Treville had disappeared to give out a few orders to ensure the smooth running of the garrison whilst he dealt with the continued search for d'Artagnan and Constance. They planned to leave as soon as the Captain had finished.

'Did something else happen?' asked Athos. 'Whilst you were in the Court?'

Aramis sighed and looked away, a look of frustration on his face.

'It seems,' said Porthos, 'that Aramis is never going to be forgiven for killing Charon. The other men cannot see past the fact that he killed their leader. It doesn't matter to them that he was saving my life. I guess I've been gone too long for them to have any respect for me either.'

'I felt a little useless in there,' admitted Aramis. 'To be honest, if Porthos was not there and we had the protection of Flea's man, I doubt we would have got away as easily… if at all. But we have d'Artagnan and Constance to think about. I can avoid going near the Court in the future.'

'Unfortunately, I think that is for the best,' said Porthos, 'I can't always be there to protect you.'

Athos watched the annoyed expression on Aramis' face turn to one of amusement as Porthos grinned at him. The moment of levity was quickly replaced with the sobering thought of the danger their friends were in.

'Now that we have these,' said Aramis, holding up the bag he had put the bottle of painkillers in. 'Let's hope we don't have to use them. I'd rather we got them back in one piece.'

Porthos nodded his agreement.

'Gentlemen,' said Treville from behind them. 'I propose we split up to check the tradesman's and craftsman's taverns. We can meet at the Old Dog in two hours.'

As they walked from the garrison, they decided which of them would go to which taverns. Their plan in place, the four Musketeers split up.

MMMM

They did not have to wait long before the men returned, d'Artagnan was sure he would not forget what followed for a long time.

Marcel and the grey-haired man were firmly holding Simon between them. The young man had been stripped completely, he was covered in blossoming bruises and grazes where he appeared to have been kicked. He was crying, begging to be released between sobs and trying to pull away from the men, digging his heels in as he was dragged across to the pit. His wrists had been tied behind his back. There was nothing but fear and confusion in his expression. Simon knew what was in store for him, he had already seen his brother go through the same thing.

'Let him go,' said Constance.

She was leaning forward as far as she could. D'Artagnan glanced at her, he thought he should tell her to be quiet, not to rile the men any more than they were already. They did not want their anger directed at them. D'Artagnan felt a pang of guilt knowing that for a few minutes at least, poor Simon was the focus the Babin's anger.

'Shut up,' shouted one of the men.

'Just leave him with us, when your demands are met, we'll take him with us, you won't see him again.'

Babin laughed at her, 'you know as well as I that the King ain't gonna meet our demands without something to back it up. We need to get the other craftsmen on side and this message shows them, the frolicking classes, just what we're capable of. And it will show the other craftsmen that I am a leader they can trust to get things done.'

'You're deranged,' said d'Artagnan unable to stop himself.

Throughout the exchange Simon had continued to sob, his breaths short and gasped. Babin nodded to the two men holding him captive. They pushed him forward. Simon fell into the pit landing heavily in the space between d'Artagnan and Constance. It took him a few seconds to take another breath the air knocked out of him as he landed.

'Please…' begged Simon piteously.

'You were on thin ground already,' said Babin with a sneer. 'We should have just done you in when we did your brother.'

'Claude,' Babin looked at the man standing closest to the bucket of lime.

Claude picked up the bucket, the man did not appear to be enjoying what was going on but had done nothing to stop it. He did not hesitate to step closer to the prone form of Simon. He reached into the bucket with his gloved hand and started to fling the lime over the unfortunate young man who cried each time the powder landed on him. Simon had his eyes screwed shut where the power was already mixing with his tears. He started to scream.

'Stop it… you're all animals,' cried Constance, her voice cracking with emotion as Simon continued to cry out in pain.

Babin laughed, 'you ain't seen nothin' yet, love.'

Marcel, a sadistic grin causing his eyes to become small, picked up the bucket of water. He waited a fraction of a second for Babin's nod before carefully pouring the water over Simon, being sure not to simply wash the lime off him.

Simon gasped for a few seconds before his screams became loud again. D'Artagnan did not think he had ever heard such screams of terror and pain before. Simon writhed on the ground between them, his legs flailed about.

'Help him,' begged Constance who could not take her eyes off the young man.

The dampened lime was burning Simon's skin, blisters were forming and bursting as he moved about. In places, the skin was being rubbed raw by his involuntary movements. He was still screaming, barely pausing to take a breath. D'Artagnan was glad the man was moving about, it meant he did not have the chance to see the burns forming. D'Artagnan felt sick watching as more and more of Simon's skin turned to burns.

'Kill him,' shouted Constance. 'End his misery… have you no compassion…'

Babin laughed before going back to watching Simon.

It took several pain-filled minutes for Simon to stop moving. When he was finally still, he continued to whimper in long drawn out breaths. Each breath out was a moan of pain. His eyes were open, but the lime had left him blinded, his white smoky eyes were glazed.

The builders watched in silence for a few minutes. Constance was crying quietly. When Simon took his last breath and did not more anymore Babin stepped forward and spat at the body of the young man.

'I hope you enjoyed the show,' he said with a look towards his two captives. 'Leave him there, they wanted to take him, they can have him.'

The leader took a step to the side, he picked up the bucket of lime with a smirk as he looked at d'Artagnan. He pulled out a handful of the powder and flung it towards d'Artagnan who was forced to turn away to stop the powder getting on his face. Babin threw more of the powder towards d'Artagnan leaving him covered in the white substance. He looked at the bucket of water for a few seconds.

'Best get that refilled,' he said to one of the younger men who nodded and grabbed the bucket.

After a last look at Simon's body and a glance at both Constance and d'Artagnan, Babin turned and walked away. The other men followed slowly. Marcel was the last to go, he still had the sadistic grin on his face. D'Artagnan was filled with hate for all the men that had contributed to the deaths of Simon and his brother.

MMMM

Athos was the last of the four to reach the Old Dog tavern. The others were mounted up waiting.

'I take it you have some news?' asked Athos as he reined in his horse, bringing him to a stop by the Captain.

'Porthos found a man who knows where most of the building works are taking place just outside the city. We've been able to narrow it down with the help of a man Aramis talked to who knows which ones have lime kilns on site. There are three. I propose we start with the closest one and work our way through them.'

Athos nodded, 'well done, you certainly had more luck than I did.'

The taverns that Athos had visited were not the friendliest of places. He had managed to pick the more insular places where the traders were anti-establishment and believed they were taxed too much. Athos had not been able to get any information from the traders drinking in the taverns.

'They've been held for several hours now,' remarked Aramis, 'I only hope we are in time.'

'The men who took them would have to wait a while for a reaction. They did not leave any way for anyone to contact them. They must be planning to make contact again,' said Treville.

'We just have to hope they don't make contact in the same manner that they did earlier, with d'Artagnan or Constance slung over the back of a horse,' said Porthos grimly.

They cantered on for while the first building site was located along a track, Athos guessed that as the building work progressed the track would be widened and made more suitable for carriages. As they approached the site it became obvious the building work was in its very early stages the foundations were still being prepared.

'This is it,' said Porthos who was pointing to their left.

The lime pit had been dug a distance from the building works. They could not see d'Artagnan, but they could see Constance who was looking across to the men working on the foundations.

'Dear God,' muttered Aramis as more of the pit came into view.

D'Artagnan and Constance were both tied with chains. Constance at the wrists and d'Artagnan at both the wrists and ankles. D'Artagnan had been stripped of his doublet and boots. He was lying stretched across the pit. The sight between the two captives made Athos' stomach turn. A naked man lay contorted, his body covered in burns. The burns were the same as those on the body of the man that had been left outside the Palace earlier in the day. The man was obviously dead, his face twisted, his eyes milky white.

D'Artagnan was covered in a white powder that Athos recognised as the lime after it had been through the kiln.

'They have guns,' yelled d'Artagnan as he looked at the approaching Musketeers.

Athos focused on the builders who were rushing across the open area between their camp and the pit. The men, seven in total, were all armed. One of the men, reached the pit, he grabbed a bucket, he was about to throw the contents of it towards d'Artagnan but was stopped by a pistol ball going through his neck. The bucket fell from the man's hands as he reached up to clutch at his neck. As the bucket hit the side of the pit the water splashed forward into the pit towards d'Artagnan.

Constance screamed.

MMMM

**Trigger warning: description of someone being burned to death with the lime. There's more burning in the next chapter as well.**


	6. Chapter 6

Porthos watched as the water splashed toward his helpless friend. There was a yell from Treville telling Aramis to help d'Artagnan before they surged forward towards the builders. Porthos knew they could not all help d'Artagnan, much as they wanted, they needed to deal with the builders first.

He purposefully did not look towards the pit; he did not want to be distracted by whatever was going on. But it was plain from the cry of pain from d'Artagnan that he had been hit with the water which was mixing with the powdered lime. Porthos tried not to think about it. He focused on the men he had to deal with.

The three of them faced six men. The man Aramis had shot was lying on the ground, blood still sluggishly pumping from the wound to the neck.

The builders managed to split themselves to fight the Musketeers two apiece. Porthos was faced with a grey-haired man and a younger man who looked scared. Porthos knew which of the two would be easier to deal with. The grey-haired man was wielding a gun which he fired towards Porthos. The shot went wide leaving the man with no other weapon. He flipped the gun, ready to use it as a club. Porthos did not feel inclined to take on the man. He fired his own gun with more accuracy. The younger man, distracted by the collapse of his friend, did not even get a chance to react to Porthos' main gauche being sliced across him.

As he turned to help his brothers, he found one of the two men that had tried to take on Treville had peeled off to fight him.

The young man was wielding a sword, which was too heavy for him, he was taking two handed swings with it. Porthos dodged out of the way of the first swing before making use of the man's momentum. The swing had left him exposed on his left, Porthos took a step forward and lunged with his sword, the blade penetrated the man's chest. The shock of the assault caused the young man to drop his sword and stumble back. Porthos did not have to worry about the man any longer.

'Porthos!' yelled Aramis.

He looked around, taking in the rest of the skirmish. Treville was well on the way to dealing with the man he was fighting. Athos was fighting with two men but had it under control.

Treville and Athos would be fine, Aramis was the one that needed help with d'Artagnan.

Rushing to the edge of the pit he paused, looking down.

Aramis was on his knees frantically trying to move the squirming d'Artagnan away from the water that had landed around him. The uncut limestone was smooth, the water had rolled over the top of it directly towards the restrained Musketeer. D'Artagnan had been chained in such a way that he could not move more than a few inches. Given time the water would have soaked away, through the limestone, but there had been no time before it had reached the unfortunate captive.

D'Artagnan was crying out with pain as the water mixed with the powder on his bare legs. Aramis was pulling at the chains, he looked up at Porthos.

'Hold him still, I'll shoot the lock, I can't do it with him moving too much,' Aramis ordered.

Porthos nodded and jumped down, he could see Aramis' problem. It was apparent that they could not treat d'Artagnan where he was, the powder needed to be washed away with more water than they had. The very thing that had caused the turmoil d'Artagnan was suffering was also going to help him. But d'Artagnan did not know that all d'Artagnan knew at that moment was pain. Porthos could not imagine how much pain his friend was in, the expression on d'Artagnan face gave Porthos a clue. He threw himself over the struggling man holding him still. As he did so he knew the exposed flesh on his forearms was likely to get burned, but it would be a small price to pay if it meant saving his brother from further torment.

With d'Artagnan pinned down firmly, Aramis moved back a couple of paces and levelled his gun he fired at the lock keeping the chains around the post at d'Artagnan's feet. The lock sprang off. Porthos watched as Aramis quickly reloaded and primed the gun.

'Please hurry,' said Constance, tears streaming down her face as she watched her lover struggling against the pain.

Aramis moved to the chain that was keeping d'Artagnan's wrists bound, he fired a second time.

'Get the chains off him,' said Aramis before glancing at Constance, 'we need water, lots of water to wash it off him.'

Constance blinked a couple of times before nodding.

'The other side of their camp, there's a stream. I don't know how far; it can't be too far.'

Porthos unwound the chains from d'Artagnan's wrists but quickly had to grab at the man's arms as he tried to reach his injured legs. D'Artagnan was incoherent with the pain, Porthos grabbed d'Artagnan, pinning his arms to his side as Aramis finished releasing his ankles. Without a word, the two Musketeers grabbed their injured brother and carried him to the edge of the pit. Treville was there, he helped to steady d'Artagnan as Porthos clambered out. Between them, they carried the still crying man towards the campsite. Aramis ran ahead of them before pausing and pointing to where the stream was.

'Get his shirt and breeches off first, we need to wash it off not make it worse,' said Treville pointing at the dry powder that still lay on d'Artagnan clothes.

Once stripped they carried the confused man into the centre of the fast-flowing shallow stream and lay him down. He struggled against them for a few seconds, his mind no doubt telling him that water would make his injuries worse. As the cold water washed the lime away and cooled the burns d'Artagnan gradually calmed down before going limp in Porthos' arms.

MMMM

Athos watched d'Artagnan being carried away, he looked down at the dying man at his feet, then at the other bodies lying sprawled around him. At least two were still alive. He glanced at Constance who was kneeling up and straining to see what was happening with d'Artagnan.

'Let me restrain these men,' said Athos, 'then I will free you.'

He hoped he sounded calm; he did not feel calm. As he had been fighting, he had heard the anguished cries from his brother and Aramis' barked orders to Porthos. The situation had been tense, he was almost glad he had been distracted by the skirmish.

'The key to the lock,' said Constance between sniffs, 'the man with the grey shirt, it's in his pocket. That's Babin, the leader of them.'

Athos was in the middle of binding Babin's arms behind him. He could not help feeling a little pleased that the leader had survived the skirmish. He had been hit on the head as he fought with Treville, the bruises were already darkening on the side of his face. The man would probably not wake up for several hours. Athos pulled the key from the man's belt.

'They are doing what they can for him,' said Athos as he jumped down into the pit, skirting the remains of the dead man.

'That's Simon,' said Constance quietly, 'he tried to help us. They killed him in front of us.'

Athos recognised the shock in Constance's eyes and the worry for d'Artagnan. He pulled the chains loose and helped her to stand, she was shaking and weak. Athos slipped his arm around her waist and held her close as they moved to the side of the pit, he helped her up before again helping her to walk towards the stream. They did not know what would greet them when they got there. They could not hear d'Artagnan's cries of pain but did not know if that was a good thing or not.

What they found was slightly reassuring. Porthos and Aramis were crouched in the stream on either side of a limp d'Artagnan. The Musketeer had been stripped and laid in the water. Treville turned to them as they stopped at the edge of the water.

'He's alive,' said Treville.

Constance wilted slightly in Athos arms, he forced her to sit on one of the larger rocks at the edge of the stream, he sat next to her keeping his arm around her. She watched her lover intently.

'Aramis says that they need to make sure all the lime is washed off and the water is supposed to help to cool the burns. He passed out; we'll have to wait until he wakes up to give him the painkiller. From the looks of him, he's going to be in a lot of pain.'

Treville shook his head in disgust.

'Two of them survived,' said Athos, 'including their leader.'

'Good,' said Treville. 'I don't like attending hangings, but for a man capable of doing… this… I will make an exception.'

Porthos pushed himself up to stand and splashed back towards them.

'Aramis says we're going to struggle to get him on a horse when he wakes, the burns are bad on his legs, but he'll recover,' Porthos said quickly when he saw the looks of shock on his friend's faces, 'but it's not going to be easy… He'll be left scared.'

'But he's alive,' said Constance quietly.

Athos glanced back towards the building site, 'LeBrun's cart, we'll use that. We need to transport the prisoners as well.'

Porthos moved off towards the campsite, 'I'll see if there's anything of use in the tents.'

Athos looked back towards d'Artagnan and Aramis. The medic was looking back at him, his expression grim.

'This was too close,' said Treville with a sigh. 'This should not have happened.'

'Babin, the leader,' said Constance, 'he was mad. He thought he could lead the craftsmen in a demand for better pay and conditions. But it wouldn't have worked.'

Constance went back to watching d'Artagnan and Aramis for a few seconds before she spoke again.

'Do you think we could bury Simon? He deserves better than the rest of them. He did try to help us and was as much a prisoner as we were.'

Athos nodded and held his friend a little closer, 'I think we can manage that.'

MMMM

_A little later…_

Aramis squeezed Constance's shoulder, she looked up at him with a smile and lay her hand over his.

'Thank you,' she said.

They had carried d'Artagnan to one of the tents at the side of the building site. D'Artagnan had been laid on his side, his legs arranged so that the worst of the burns were not touching the rough blankets on the camp bed. They had covered him with blankets, Aramis had left the burns exposed, not wishing to cover them until they had no choice. The red and white marks covering the backs and sides of d'Artagnan's legs looked angry. There were blisters, some of which had burst during their hurried treatment. D'Artagnan looked pale, his expression still one of pain and discomfort even though he was unconscious.

'I've got the painkiller ready,' said Aramis as he put the cup of liquid on a small low table by the camp bed.

'Will it make him sleep as well?' asked Constance.

Aramis shook his head, 'I don't think so, but I've been told it's very strong so we can't give him too much at a time.'

He could hear activity outside the tent, the bodies of the men, apart from Simon, had been put together and the two unconscious builders had been tied to the cart ready to be taken back to face their fate. Porthos and Treville had walked off with a couple of spades to find somewhere suitable to bury Simon. Athos was busy searching the tents and surrounding area for anything they might need to prove that Babin had plans to cause protests or strikes amongst the other craftsmen. Although they doubted much evidence would be required against the men to see justice served on them. Constance had told them that the other surviving man was Marcel who seemed to be just as evil and misguided as Babin.

A pained moan from d'Artagnan had both Constance and Aramis leaning over the injured man. Aramis firmly held d'Artagnan still, one hand on his hip and one on his shoulder. Constance took her lover's hand in hers squeezing it to show him that she was there.

'D'Artagnan,' said Aramis as calmly as he could, 'try to keep still. You have burns on your legs if you move you are going to make the pain worse.'

D'Artagnan slowly opened his eyes, he focused on Constance.

'I'm alright,' she said. 'They're all dead or captured.'

D'Artagnan managed a small nod.

'I've got some painkiller here,' said Aramis, holding up the cup. 'It's stronger than the mixture I make, have a few sips.'

Constance lifted her lovers head slightly as Aramis held the cup to his lips. D'Artagnan managed a few sips, pulling a face as he did.

'Give it a few minutes,' said Aramis. 'I'll let the others know you're awake. Constance, I'll only be outside, call me if he gets agitated.'

With a last look at d'Artagnan who was staring straight ahead, his brows furrowed against the pain he was in, Aramis left the tent.

He thought back to all that had gone on. The uncomfortable trip to the Court of Miracles, the lack of clues to where their friends had been taken, the fraught struggle to help d'Artagnan. Aramis was very much looking forward to the moment when they were all safely back in Paris and d'Artagnan was out of danger. He knew there was still a chance of infection in the burns, particularly the ones that had burst. He would have to dress them, a process that would cause his friend more discomfort, and then the dressings would need to be changed. The ordeal might have been over for them, but d'Artagnan still had a long way to go.

Treville was walking towards him, brushing dirt from his hands as he did so.

'We found a spot a little way into the woods near the pit. Porthos is just finishing digging the grave. Has he come around yet?'

Aramis nodded, 'I've given him the painkiller, it will hopefully only take a few minutes to work. I think he should be fine to travel once I've dressed the burns.

'Good,' said Treville. 'I'd like to get back to Paris and be done with this whole sordid business.'

Aramis could not agree more.

MMMM

Porthos had held Constance's hand as they watched Aramis say a few words over the freshly covered grave of Simon. As Aramis had crossed himself and put his hat back on Constance had taken a step forward and rested her hand on the rudimentary cross that had been made for Simon.

They had given her a few moments before walking back to the cart where Athos, Treville and a very uncomfortable d'Artagnan were waiting. Poor d'Artagnan had suffered when Aramis dressed the wound. The medic had constantly apologised for causing pain to his friend as Porthos and Athos held the injured Musketeer as still as they could. He had almost passed out again but not quite, the painkiller doing its job to dull the pain a little.

Now they were heading back to Paris. Constance was sitting beside d'Artagnan, holding his hand. The two prisoners who had both come around were sat, firmly tied and gagged as far from d'Artagnan as they could be put. Porthos had quickly grown bored of the dirty looks the pair were giving them all and blindfolded the two men causing them to complain through their gags. Porthos was fairly sure Treville and Athos had seen him clout the pair to shut them up but had decided not to react.

Athos was driving the cart, his horse tethered to the back. Treville was riding alongside the cart watching the prisoners. Aramis and Porthos were following, keeping an eye out in case there were any more murderous builders in the area.

'Will he be alright?' asked Porthos quietly.

Aramis took a few seconds to answer, 'I've done all that I can. I hope we were quick enough. Time will be his healer.'

Porthos nodded, 'time, and knowing that the men that did this to him, and killed those two unfortunate brothers, will be dealt with.'

'They did have a point,' mused Aramis, 'conditions could be improved, but they've gone about their protest in the wrong way, harming innocent people will not solve anything.'

'And we get left to pick up the pieces,' concluded Porthos.

The End.

**Authors note: I hope you enjoyed it. If anyone has any suggestions for a follow-up, perhaps something happening as d'Artagnan recovers I'd happily accept a prompt.**

**I would not recommend looking up the effects of quicklime when it's mixed with water. It is not pretty.**

**Whilst looking for inspiration for a title for this story I came across this mad quote from Harry Houdini…**

'**To cause the face to appear in a mass of flame make use of the following: mix together thoroughly petroleum, lard, mutton tallow and quick lime. Distil this over a charcoal fire, and the liquid which results can be burned on the face without harm.'**


End file.
